


404 — collapsing universe

by bbyunies



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, but still cheesy as hell, i can't believe i had to write about chankai, slightly angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24894547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbyunies/pseuds/bbyunies
Summary: “Do you believe in God?”“I don’t.”“Me neither, to be honest. Isn’t it fascinating how many only allow God to judge their fate, though?” Junmyeon’s back fell against the wooden chair, softly. “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in the universe. In this invisible, inexplicable force punishing us for our mistakes, and rewarding kindness.”[official epilogue for @exo404r]
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun & Kim Jongdae | Chen, Byun Baekhyun/Do Kyungsoo | D.O, Byun Baekhyun/Oh Sehun, Kim Jongin | Kai/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	1. epilogue |

**Author's Note:**

> how is everyone? did you think of me? to be honest, this entire thing was a Nightmare to write. but it had to be done, right? you were all great kids, patiently waiting for me. thank you, from the bottom of my heart.  
> more than gruesome events and spurts of angst, i just thought it would have been pretty if i had allowed you to read some random extracts from their current lives. everything happens one year after room 404, then — just different scenes i had on my mind. 
> 
> have fun.

Hanyang University MC, Neuropsychiatry dept. 2021.  
Therapist: Kang Junhee.

[This transcript is available for purposes of research, study and teaching. It may not be sold. Throughout this interview the responses of the therapist and the client are indicated, in order, by the letters T (Therapist Kang) and Y (Zhang Yixing). Please be aware the following content presents explicit mentions of sensitive topics, such as: suicide, depression and grief. It is in the reader’s best interest to be careful.]

_Comment:_ during Zhang Yixing’s most recent session, I was able to resolve many of my doubts. Though there is still a lot to uncover, I can say I am satisfied with the current direction of our work. Patient does not look as uncomfortable as he did in the very beginning. It might be worth it to focus the next session on his childhood only.

  
  
  


T: Why your muse?  
Y: (silence)  
T: It’s alright if you don’t want to answer.  
Y: I think she is pretty.  
T: Was it a mere physical interest, then?  
Y: No. Everything about her is pretty. The way she sings when I dance, the way she smiles at the stars. Everything. Even her meltdowns. [notes: why the present tense?]  
T: Do you think you were in love?  
Y: It’s obsession, not love, doctor.  
T: May I ask why do you believe that?  
Y: I did things.  
T: Things?  
Y: [patient looks uncomfortable] Things to her, yes. To her dead soul.  
T: I would like to hear more, if you don’t mind.  
Y: Well, I… (sigh) do you believe in magic, doctor? Black magic. There are so many... movies about that. Women and men playing around with lives, making fun of Death itself. Cursed souls. Occult is a powerful art, but it’s often disregarded by those who are unable to see beyond their selfish realism. When she left me, occult became my anchor, somehow. It helped. It gave me hope when nothing else could [depression?]. And then I started seeing things… things human beings are not supposed to know about, for the sake of their health… of their happiness. [hallucinations?]  
T: For example?  
Y: (short silence) My deceased parents, still trapped in a destroyed vehicle. Blood and wounds. Their desperate screams. I saw my childhood best friend, hanging from a tree like a half-severed branch, bluish skin as if the universe had kissed him. It was disgusting.  
I saw her, too. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t there when she died, but still — I saw her. Her absolute, horrible fall.  
T: Fall?  
Y: She didn’t jump, if that’s what you want to know. She cut her wrists. [patient is unexpectedly cold]  
Hurt her face, too. Kim Junmyeon didn’t stop her.  
  
T: So you had a nightmare, I suppose, about what was told you by Kim Junmyeon.  
Y: No, she was the one who talked to me. [notes: definitely delusional]  
And Kim Junmyeon… he… well.  
T: We never discussed too much about him, did we?  
Y: No, we didn’t.  
T: Is there something you would like to tell me? Remember, I’m not here to judge you. I want to help. Only that.  
Y: (silence) … so, about her. Because I ended up playing with her soul, I don’t consider my feelings to be love, but pure obsession. It’s kind of sick.  
T: How did you “play with her soul”?  
Y: I forced her to come back to this world. Promised Death Kim Junmyeon’s loves, in exchange for her life. She didn’t want that, though. [what...?]  
T: You’re not supposed to disturb the dead, after all.   
Y: Right. She was sad.  
T: What happened to Kim Junmyeon?  
Y: (silence)  
T: During our first session, you said he brought you here. He is clearly connected to most of the major events in your life. Do you know if Kim Junmyeon is doing well, these days?  
Y: I don’t. They don’t talk to me anymore. The children, I mean. (sigh)  
Eh… it makes sense.  
T: What about before? What relationship was there between the two of you?  
Y: He was my best friend in high school. Her boyfriend, too. He saw her die.  
T: Do you resent him?  
Y: I do.  
T: Because he let her die?  
Y: Yes. He could have done something.  
  
T: Yet, Kim Junmyeon was a mere adolescent, right? And in such a fragile situation, it might have been hard to intervene.  
Y: But he led her to that, doctor. [patient raised his voice | sensitive topic?]  
T: Did he? You told me Kang Hyejin suffered from clinical depression.  
Y: Yes, but… he didn’t help…  
T: Did you help?  
Y: (silence)  
T: To be frank, none of you were supposed to. Friends should give you comfort, but ultimately it’s my and my colleagues’ job to help you with your healing process. As I mentioned in your last session, our major focus, right now, should be your sense of guilt concerning her death. But before that, Yixing, before I could help you choose the perfect band-aids, I need to know the full story.  
Y: The full story…  
T: Would you allow me to help you, Zhang Yixing?  
Y: What’s the point? What happens once I get better?  
T: Life happens. Real life. Where things that hurt now are nothing more than a little scar, where pain and tears don’t fill your days. A life where you’re allowed to breathe, to put it simply. I promise you, we’ll be able to reach that point together.  
Y: I regret what I did to her. To the others, too.  
T: Shall we talk more about this?  
Y: Well, I… 

  
[error 404: rest of the transcript missing]

21.05

II.  
  
  


Roaring metropolis on the verge of collapsing, chromium skyscrapers threatening to fall down, to crush the multitude of thoughts-filled heads running back home. Sunset crumbles, strokes of night. The blundering tumult of hasty steps and opposing voices. Breaths and faces and traces of humanity lost in the vastness of progress, in its awful lack of empathy. Minseok ran, he _ran_ , while his lungs couldn’t stop screaming for air. He ran, until his legs were able to give in, body in pain and desperation.  
  
“Did you take it?”  
  
The voice on the other side of the phone felt weirdly focused, despite the background noise suggesting otherwise.  
“Right now,” Minseok breathed, a quick glance at the subway doors. He teetered towards the closest handle, little grin of relief blessing his features.  
“Good,” the voice replied, new nuances of distraction. “How was therapy, then?”  
Minseok’s gaze danced around, softly. It crumbled on a cheerful child and his never-ending questions, the exasperated smile on his mother’s face. It fell on the old man by their side, awful frown concealing years of stories and disappointments. On some high school kids, then, gushing over the latest boy group. How gorgeous the members were, how amazing the title track — masterpiece of a _new producer_ — was. He listened to their rambling for a while, until Kyungsoo’s voice entrapped him again.  
  
“Minseok?”  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered, eyes back on the universe outside. “It was good. You were right, she’s not as scary as the first time. The therapist, I mean.”  
“I am glad to hear that,” but Minseok couldn’t avoid getting curious over those hints of relief.  
  
“Are you?”  
  
“Of course,” Kyungsoo quickly replied. It seemed he had stopped doing whatever was keeping him occupied. “I was worried. No, afraid. During our last conversation, you told me how much therapy scared you. I thought you were not going to follow my advice. But knowing you did, in the end… yes. I am glad.”  
Minseok stared at his phone for a while, in the middle of warmth and scepticism.  
“You know,” he said, as Kyungsoo loudly gulped. “You’re adorable.”  
“Please do not think that ever again.”  
The other laughed, cheerful sound meddling with the on-going hustle. It felt sweet. Like a little melody blessing their evening.   
“I really didn’t want to go,” he admitted, secrets the moon wasn’t allowed to hear. “I kept thinking, what if they tell me there’s nothing wrong? That I’m just wasting their time?”  
Kyungsoo’s little “mmh” felt weirdly comforting, though.  
“But then... when you said everything was going to be alright, that I deserved help too… my heart,” Minseok’s whispers lowered, so did his gaze. “My heart got all warm.”  
“I did nothing more than the others,” and despite how cold Kyungsoo’s tone came off, it still made him smile, colors and warmth filling the universe, enhancing it. “I do believe you deserve help, but so does everyone else. The past year… I realized many things.”  
“Like?”  
“Healing is hard, but somehow possible.”  
“I can’t argue with that.”  
Minseok stared at the way the sun disappeared in the Han river, kisses of light tainting the water, gifting its audience a marvelous portrait.   
  
“Are you coming to the dinner party?”  
  
Kyungsoo didn’t reply, at first. A short pause. Hesitant breaths.  
“If it’s alright.”  
“You and Sehunie need to calm down with the meanie contest.”  
“I think things improved a lot. At least we can be in the same room, now.”  
“You’re working hard. One day he’ll see it too.”  
Another pause. Feelings stuck in the throat.  
  
“It is alright if he doesn’t.”  
  
“I know. I just wanted to say that, Kyungsoo.”  
“You’re working hard too, Kim Minseok.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


20.05  
  
I.

  
  
  


Troubled youth living off watered coffee and menthol cigarettes. Main population of the cheapest cafés, with their boring books and pretentious discourses; with their porcelain cups, their curious eyes. The wandering hearts and questioning souls. Kyungsoo placed his order on the table, the scent of coffee playing with Junmyeon’s attention. He sighed, little pout cursing his features, all too pretty and delicate for someone whose gaze generally felt like snowflakes on skin.

“You’re late.”

Junmyeon stared at him, chocolate eyes that later glanced at his fingers. There was something comforting, and perhaps even beautiful, in the way Do Kyungsoo’s hands lacked cuts and pain. Skin that used to cry day and night, trapped in a sufferance nobody could understand. Soft, now. The gentlest presence. It made him wonder, coffee-tainted lips, how hard Kyungsoo must have worked. How hard he was working, still. 

“I’m sorry.”  
  
And there were traces of anxiety in his voice, nervous crumbles that caught Junmyeon by surprise, somehow, until the latter’s lips bloomed in a soft grin.

“Why, it’s fine. Really.”

The sound of an awkward laughter, clinking cups and busy chattering. University students complaining over the upcoming exams, while they both drowned in their usual, intimate quietness. As if thoughts and stares were enough to form a conversation.  
“Did you visit her parents, in the end?”  
Kyungsoo’s words felt like a gentle intrusion. They messed with their peace, allowed memories to emerge, scenes both of them were always trying to suppress, always trying to forget.  
“I didn’t,” Junmyeon muttered, as his gaze fell on the table, on the little stains ruining its surface. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. Moreover, it’s not my right to make her parents even more miserable.”  
“How kind of you,” Kyungsoo laughed, while invisible walls grew all around them. “It will soon be one year, right? Since what happened.”  
“Right.”  
“I only asked you this question once. At the time, you didn’t answer. ‘Another day’, you said — Kyungsoo’s fingertips traced circles along the table’s surface, slowly — … yet I never found the courage, nor the right words, to inquire again.”  
“What changed?”  
“Money wasted on therapy,” he sighed, their new little barrier turning any outside noise into muffled cries. “Can I ask, now?”  
“I’m listening.”  
“Zhang Yixing. When me and Sehun opened the door, it looked like you were going to kill him. But you didn’t, in the end. Why?”  
Junmyeon stared at the ridiculous expression on his face, the way nothing could have made Kyungsoo crack into a smile, not while the latter’s brain was cruelly marching on theories and doubts.  
  
“Do you believe in God?”  
  
“I don’t.”  
“Me neither, to be honest. Isn’t it fascinating how many only allow God to judge their fate, though?” Junmyeon’s back fell against the wooden chair, softly. “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in the universe. In this invisible, inexplicable force punishing us for our mistakes, and rewarding kindness.”  
“So you left him in the hands of the stars,” Kyungsoo followed suit, but with a delicate sigh on his lips.  
“My fingers became red for a moment. It was… horrifying, Kyungsoo. It made me afraid,” and Junmyeon could do nothing but stare at his own hands, inches of terror. Glimpses of horror. “I didn’t want for my fingers to be red for the rest of my life.”  
  
“What if the universe doesn’t punish him?”  
“It will. I’m sure.”

They listened to the surrounding hustle for a while, with that certain apathy of someone who doesn’t recognize themselves in youthful laughs and silly jokes. Not anymore.  
“Such a hopeful little boy,” Kyungsoo grinned, letting his eyelids fall.  
“Now, now, don’t tease me. Give me an answer back, instead.”  
“Ask away.”  
“Are you still in love?”  
There was a messy smirk on Junmyeon’s lips. Something inexplicable, perhaps alluring. It took Kyungsoo a while to answer, to even process his question. As if thoughts refused to hurt his own feelings.  
“Always.”  
“But you’re not raising a finger.”  
Junmyeon kept staring at him, somehow amused.  
“Of course. He loves someone else. But he’s happy and that’s enough for me.”  
“You grew up a lot, didn’t you?”  
A laugh, then, Kyungsoo rolling his eyes in desperation, the world all around them singing under the soft nuances of spring. 

“I’m proud of you,” Junmyeon added. Such a pretty smile, it made the other blush.  
“I’m proud of you, too.”  
  


10.04  
  
the encounter.

  
  


Sunshine painted intricate shadows on the streets, kissed impersonal buildings with its morning lips. April breathed, in the form of petals dragged away by the wind. Traces of beauty spiraling. They danced among tired students and their low grumbles, touched their cheeks, played with their hearts. They danced, while Jongdae could do nothing but stare. Until art collapsed on the ground, with the softness of a wanted death. 

“So, I forgot about the test.”

Baekhyun felt like a delicate intrusion, little chaos of messy hair and pouty lips. Jongdae glanced at the chocolate milk in his fingers, then at the furrowed eyebrows, the frustrated little eyes. 

“Your fault.”

“You should have reminded me.”

Baekhyun poked his chest, softly, with that mischievous nuance Jongdae had always considered endearing, source of half-hidden smirks and muffled laughs. He sighed, arm slung around the latter’s neck, the usual wobbly walk down the street. Posters and signs they had learnt by heart, faces that felt familiar, now, almost intimate. 

“Life was easier when I was possessed,” Jongdae rolled his eyes, sudden steps shattering their bond. “I didn’t have to stand whiny brats like you.”

Baekhyun ran after him, interlocking their fingers, the grip almost too possessive. “When are you disappearing again, then?”

“Unfortunately, not soon,” he laughed, treading on petals and memories.  
One year had made everything unpredictable, the inability to take things for granted because they never knew what was going to happen, they didn’t. _They didn’t._ Whether stars wanted to play games or not. Whether fate, somehow, was already growing tired of their occasional laughs and dangling hands. Baekhyun slowed down for a moment, eyes distractedly examining his back. Fits of terror mangling him from the inside, blood and guts and horror all mixing together, in a soaring fear that stole his breath — until Jongdae smiled, comfort settling in. Warmth prevailing. 

They crossed the street, Seoul’s whispers as sidewalks full of vendors, as sparkly billboards and clouds of smoke. Baekhyun told him all about Sehun’s most recent meltdown, the way he had to pretend orange wasn’t a terrible hair color, so the stylist could breathe in relief. How kind Kyungsoo had been, helping Baekhyun with a forgotten project. Something about memories and feelings. How cheerful Chanyeol was, instead, humming summery beats down the halls, jumping all around for feelings he still couldn’t understand, he still couldn’t figure out. And Jongdae listened, heart entrapping every single word. Jongdae listened, with that genuine care Baekhyun had eagerly craved, despite their last encounter being the day before. He threw in some jokes from time to time, serious comments when the conversation assumed darker shades. Still, it all perfectly fit together, like connected notes of a crushing melody.  
  
“Isn’t it weird?”  
  
Baekhyun glanced at him, tilting his head to the side.  
  
“What?”  
  
“How much time can change things,” Jongdae continued, steps becoming slower and slower, till they completely stopped, right in front of the university’s main entrance. “One year ago, I remember telling myself I was never going to see you again — eyes crumbling on connected hands — I missed your warmth.”  
“But everything is alright, now,” Baekhyun quickly embraced him, in such a clumsy way it made the other laugh. “You’re here. Here with me.”  
Jongdae’s chin rested on his shoulder, heart overwhelmed by the familiar scent. Warm, and tingly, and drowning in sparkles that felt so nice, it was surreal.  
“I could see everything, you know. Still… I couldn’t raise a finger, no matter how much I prayed — a pause, a soft sigh — or cried. I lost count of my tears. I feel so… ashamed.”  
“It was never your fault.”  
Baekhyun’s whisper felt comforting, like a gentle caress against his soul.  
“I’m not leaving again.”  
“I know. I’m staying, too.”  
They basked in sunshine and kisses of spring, in silence. Till duty called. 

  
  
  
“But seriously… you could have reminded me of that fucking test.”  
“Your failing grades are not my responsibility.”  
“I take it back, disappear.”  
“Goo goo ga ga.”

  
  
  


20.04  
  
the taste of strawberries.

  
In the brittle chaos of messy blankets and connected souls, sun kissed naked bodies, while fingers danced, and played, and sought each other. They painted constellations on vulnerable skin, before turning into love, into traces of _themselves._ Baekhyun laughed against his chest, sound so sudden, but familiar. It stole heartbeats and thoughts, notes all scattered around the room, lingering in Sehun’s mind with a candid gentleness. It made him wish to melt in the curve of Baekhyun’s lips, in the stars that always filled his gaze, somehow. Sparkling fireworks on a July night. _Soft_ . A trail of distracting pecks, then — collarbones, neck, the tempting mole blessing Baekhyun’s ear.  
Sehun stifled a laugh against his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and dreams. They rested in each other’s arms for a while, in a silence that felt comforting, complete, like all the quiet midnight calls, the car rides, the stolen kisses on the way home. Like the past and the still under construction present. Their stars.  
  
“But are you sure you want me?” Baekhyun’s gentle whisper echoed in the air, honey-covered eyes shyly glancing at him, at the way his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, confused. “Me? And no one else?”  
  
“I’m in love with you,” he said, leaving the warmth of his arms. Under the latter’s beating heart, Baekhyun could do nothing but stare in awe. “And I’m ready to love you properly, the way you deserve.”  
  
“What do I deserve, though?”  
Sehun smirked, devilish grin that later collapsed in kisses against his cheeks, the corner of his lips, on the tiny, nearly imperceptible scar right under his own lover’s chin. Until he felt vulnerable. Until stars filled his eyes and wishes cursed his throat. “You deserve respect,” he murmured, soft voice making the other’s chest all warm and tingly. “To be trusted and heard — lips caressing Baekhyun’s fingers — to be loved.”  
“Loved…”  
“You deserve my heart,” Sehun finally said, a last peck on his wrist, before eyes and truths could meet again. “It means I won’t leave you alone. I don’t want to. It means I will take care of you, every single day.”  
There was a shy laugh, then, awkward notes dancing around them. “You’ll get sick of me, eventually. But until that day, let me cover you in sugar.”  
Baekhyun’s fingers felt hesitant against his face. They traced the imperfect outline of his jaw, brought attention to ridiculous dark circles and nearly imperceptible pimples. They danced, and played, and gave warmth and sparkles to every inch of skin, every feature, each meaningful detail. Baekhyun felt he could taste time itself, somehow. It had changed them. Their words, their faces. Their kisses. Even their warmth. It had changed them, before he could notice it. 

“You really grew up a lot, didn’t you?”  
  
Sehun was there, not as childish as before, but still blessed by little smirks that only made him fall deeper and harder.  
  
“Of course I did. I’m a big boy, now.”  
“You’re cute.”  
  
And suddenly Sehun was hiding against his neck, warm breath making Baekhyun quiver, stop, collapse. He found himself in the middle of the other’s arms, the most delicate and lethal embrace.  
“Let me be your boyfriend, Byun Baekhyun. A real relationship,” Sehun murmured, words staining skin. “No games.”  
“No games,” he repeated, as fingers gently messed with his lover’s hair. “Do you want me that much? Is it worth it?”  
“I do. It is.”  
Sehun left his little nest, only for his gaze to fall on Baekhyun’s features. Such a serious tone. Such a resolute look. 

“We wouldn’t be perfect. We still have our fights, our little misunderstandings. We could argue for hours over the best soju flavor. No, we’d definitely be a mess, Baekhyun,” he laughed, lightly. “But it’s alright, perfect is not what we’re supposed to be.”  
“I want to be a mess with you,” Sehun added, which only made Baekhyun’s heart stop. “And I want you to be my present. I’ll work hard, so you can be my future too.”  
  
He leaned in, then, hoping for a kiss, but was only greeted by frantic fingers and fleeting eyes.   
“You’re such a brat.”  
“Yet you like me, don’t you?”  
Baekhyun gathered as many crumbles of courage as he could, all populating his heart like stars in the overwhelming night. He stared at him, at the little grin on Sehun’s mouth, at the inches of love and universe spiraling in his gaze.  
  
“No. I love you,” such unexpected words, even sunlight looked in disbelief. “I’m in love with you, Sehun.”  
  
“Don’t ever stop.”  
  
There was something inexplicably warm in their connected lips, in the way their souls followed the same rhythm. Comforting and fulfilling, the universe taking care of them, loving them. They kissed, once again, mouths stained by honey. They kissed. They fell. 

05.05  
  
half-moon.

  
“What if I don’t get in?”  
  
May was tender insecurities and a scorching kiss from the sun. It was crackles and laughs in the middle of the afternoon, flames hissing at the pan; jokes over memories, languid stares. May was Baekhyun complaining about garlic cloves, distracting Minseok while Jongdae and his mischievous grin stole a bite. It was Sehun smoking outside — a recent flaw — cigarette dangling between his lips, eyes occasionally running away from the sun.  
“Stop with the nonsense,” Chanyeol grumbled, nervous fingers dancing against the table’s surface. “You’re the most talented, hard-working person I know. Only a shitty ballet company wouldn’t take you in.”  
Junmyeon sighed, chin resting on his palm, while minutes and seconds perpetuated a sense of anxiety, fits of anguish like butterflies in his stomach. May was that, too. The prelude to a summer filled with opportunities and detours. The beginning where once they could only see the end, all tainted by blood and tears. Sehun stared at the heap of aseptic buildings and congested roads, cigarette falling down, down, ‘till it hit the ground.  
“I’m not that great, hyung.”  
Jongin’s voice felt soft even through the speakerphone, the kindest of melody scattered around the room.  
“Oh, please,” Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, stove neglected for a minute. “Now you’re being absurd.”  
And while a poor Minseok had to endure Baekhyun tickling his body, muffled laughter and sparkly eyes, Jongdae stole the phone from Chanyeol’s fingers. Gently. The latter blinked, slow enough to absorb each minimal detail. As if there were the chance, somehow, that those insignificant — yet precious — shadows were soon going to disappear, like ashes escaping from the palm of his hand. 

“Nini, it’s normal to be insecure. It’s normal to be afraid,” Jongdae smiled between words, pearls of light all pretty in his eyes. “But you’re not alone. You’ll always be able to count on us.”

“Honestly,” Baekhyun allowed Minseok to catch a breath, running to Jongdae’s side like a curious little child. “Even if you don’t get in, you can still audition somewhere else.”

“And we’ll support you. No matter what.”  
  
Junmyeon’s intrusion felt like sugar on lips, honey band-aids covering each scar, adding that so needed final touch. He gave Chanyeol the phone again, along with an almost paternal grin. Despite everything, some habits were difficult to erase. From the other side, Jongin was just insecure breaths and occasional hums, terror so deeply attached to his wings, always making it difficult to soar high in the sky. Always making it impossible to touch the stars.  
“Jongin, listen,” Chanyeol was stern, now. Furrowed eyebrows and serious gaze. “You’re art. Pure art. And if they can’t see that, I’m deeply sorry for their lack of taste. It must be awful.”

“I love you a lot,” the distracted whisper of a Jongin shaking his head, love and red on blessed cheeks. The growing embarrassment in his veins. “As a friend, of course.”  
  
Chanyeol didn’t notice his own lips turning into a smile, nor the accidental “me too” escaping from his mouth. He didn’t notice how much his eyes sparkled, how many stars connected the two of them, filled their bodies. Made them shine. He didn’t, while the others grinned at love and its sprouts, softly.  
“Wait, I think the results are out.”  
Excitement crashed with panic. Shivers and twinkles melting together, spiraling into wandering stares and silent prayers. Sehun joined them, back against the wall, while Baekhyun naturally advanced towards him. Heart and soul falling between his arms.  
They all waited, in a terrible quietness that almost felt comical.  
  
“... hyung.”  
“Yes?”

Chanyeol’s fingers dramatically tapped the table, building momentum before the explosion of fireworks and notes. 

  
  


“Hyung, I’m... a professional dancer, now.”  
  


03.06

the dinner party.

  
  


Fireworks were nothing but stars laughing in the sky. Where May dressed herself as the prelude, June danced around like an explosion of sparkles and dreams, childish eyes staring at the night, falling in its depth. Time had touched them. Collapsed on their youth, changed the way they stared at each other, loved each other. Time had touched them, softly. Kids that felt more like adults, now, but devoid of terrible façades and messed up lies. Kids running after their dreams, still careful enough to not burn against the sun.  
Chanyeol, the rising producer. His art finally finding a voice, in the roaring tumult of their beloved city. Jongin had kissed him on the cheek, gently, before his lips could mutter silent prayers to the falling stars. Something about allowing him a sweet love, and enough courage for a successful career.   
The way both Sehun and Baekhyun were still a chaotic cocktail of feelings and irresponsibility, holding hands like nothing else could have given them air.   
Minseok and Kyungsoo, on the other side, could only glance at the moon, hoping to heal, truly heal. ‘Till their souls could be at peace.   
Jongdae and his new found fragility, the taste of alcohol on his lips. The growing desire of living his life in the name of happiness, and nothing else.   
  
_Junmyeon._ The man whose heart couldn’t stop loving, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how difficult it was. Junmyeon, asking the universe to allow him one last encounter. 

  
  


In a world where growing up was the scariest thing, they found comfort in each other’s love.  
  



	2. bonus |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. this was so hard, i can't believe i'm FREEEEE #404nimfree #404nimoutofjailparty  
> so the prizes have their own chapter, but i added one of them here because i thought it really went well with the epilogue’s theme… anyway, enjoy! let me know what you feel, alright? 
> 
> always yours.

404 — 

  
under an orange sun  
we dance with no shadows  
there is no such thing as decided farewells  
meet me in that memory that was once beautiful  
 _forever young_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Perhaps it was Autumn’s breath chasing leaves, or the pitiful cloudy sky. Perhaps it was the black cat sleeping on bricks and ivy, or the way the old custodian kept grumbling, furrowed eyebrows and surly stare. Perhaps it was all of that, together, the reason why he couldn’t feel his heart beating, nor his thoughts wandering.   
Trees sang brittle melodies made of goodbyes and prayers. They drowned out the desperate crying of people who didn’t want to be seen, who didn’t want for the world to know how fragile, how lost they actually were. Trees sang, following each of Junmyeon’s steps with their little curious eyes. Wondering why did he come back, after so much time. Wondering why did he leave, in the first place. Whenever they attempted to ask, his gaze fell on the ground, on the mess of colors and death under his feet. Graveyards made life feel like a gift. One you suddenly wanted to take care of, in place of picture trapped smiles.  
In the overwhelming quietness of endings, the sky didn’t look as mean as usual, the wind didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt. It touched Junmyeon’s cheeks, instead, reminding him he could breathe, his heart could beat. Suddenly regrets were kinder, the little mean voice in his head taking a break. Suddenly there was only Hyejin’s urn, and nothing else, not even the trees. Sparkly eyes that could just live through pictures and memories, staring at him, making his entire body quiver. How ugly and unfair it was, to meet your first love on the border between life and death. To have so many words to say, while wondering if ghosts were ever going to listen to you. If your apologies would even reach them. How ugly and unfair it was, to be filled with truths only the Autumn leaves were probably going to hear, in the end. They laughed. He felt shame crowd his lungs.  
  
Junmyeon’s little “hello” was barely audible. Voice raspy and afraid, while he got lost in useless pleasantries and questions he knew, of course he knew, Kang Hyejin didn’t care about, nor was ever going to answer. The bouquet of daisies and sunflowers right beside her picture felt too alive for that place. Something about flowers in bloom making fun of death. He sighed, fingers brushing against the frame. How long had it been, since their last encounter? Since crumbles of courage had brought him there, having him face truths and regrets? How lonely must have she been, too. And sad. Forgotten by friends, family. Left behind by love itself.

Junmyeon removed each fallen petal, brushed away the dust. Gave some water to the daisies. He sat on the ground, then, just an empty smile on his lips. It felt a little bit awkward, to be honest, talking to someone who couldn’t answer — and perhaps didn’t even want to.  
  
“It’s been a while. I know.”  
He tilted his head to the side, lazily hugging his knees.  
  
“This place… I really don’t like how vulnerable it makes me feel,” Junmyeon glanced at the other _residents_ ; some drowning in love, some devoid of care. “But I also feel bad, you know? Because you’re probably having it worse than me — yet here I am, complaining.”  
He laughed. Both pathetic and sad.  
  
“Hey, Kang Hyejin…” Junmyeon’s head fell between his knees, flustered gaze avoiding everything, anything. “You see… no matter how hard I try, I’m still a mess. I’m afraid of the past. I’m afraid of memories that once made me happy, of pictures that used to give me warmth. I’m afraid of so many things.”  
“I have this little voice in my head constantly telling me it’s my fault if people get hurt, if they leave me behind, because I can’t take care of them. I can’t. Just like how I couldn’t take care of you. And sometimes, you know, it becomes so loud, all I want to do is jump in the ocean and disappear.”  
Bitter chuckle, burning eyes.  
“Despite everything… apologizing is really hard. Sounds dumb, right? But I swear it is. Like… if I gave pain an outline, an actual form, then it would feel even more real. Even more close. And I’m so scared of that. Do I make sense?”  
Junmyeon snickered, again, all quivers and thoughts.  
“I don’t think I do.”

Wind messed with his hair for a moment. Tears fell — and honestly, it felt mortifying.   
  
“You should stop blaming yourself, though...”  
  
Every inch of Junmyeon’s body turned into panic and cold, eyes so wide it hurt, muscles so stiff they burned. The familiar voice rang in his mind like a cursed song. There was fear in those veins, the urgency to run away. But there was curiosity, too, fueling the dangerous desire that had him leave his nest, gaze falling on the figure by his side. Before Kim Junmyeon could even whisper, Kang Hyejin’s finger met his lips. And every sound died, then, except for the mischievous laugh of the trees. 

“Calm down,” she said, gifting him space. Junmyeon closed his eyes — couldn’t even keep track of how many thoughts and fears were screaming in his mind, the insane amount of questions turning his stomach, too, into a mess of anxieties. He breathed, slowly. Let air banish the panic. When he opened his eyes again, after minutes that felt like days, the only other person around was not a vengeful ghost, nor a demon, or even a crazy best friend.  
  
“Feeling better?”  
  
It was a girl whose eyes kept pouring memories in his soul. Messy bangs, little pout. Her soft voice dancing in Junmyeon’s mind, bringing both sparkles and warmth. It was the memory of a lost youth, a bad ending dressed in pretty clothes and comforting stares. It was Hyejin, affecting his heart like nothing else. He nodded, slowly.  
“Good,” she sighed in relief, before turning towards the little urn. “I really don’t like that photo, you know.”  
Junmyeon’s fingers itched. The growing need to touch her, to touch her skin, to fall between her hair. They itched. So much.  
“Why… not?”  
“Because,” Hyejin suddenly glanced at him, such a nonchalance that made her look — and feel — more alive than ever, in a sort of crazy and yet comforting way. “I hated that red sweater, but my mom wouldn't let me wear anything else.”  
“I remember. Didn’t you throw it in the river, later?”  
“I did. I never felt more free.”  
Junmyeon chuckled, as Kang Hyejin’s attention crumbled on him.  
  
“It’s weird.”  
  
“What?” he asked, tiny sparkles of confusion.  
  
“Your laugh. It’s so unhappy, it doesn’t even sound like one,” she went back to staring at the frame, knees against her chest. “You have an ugly laugh.”  
  
“Well, thank you, I guess.”  
  
“It really wasn’t your fault, though,” Hyejin’s eyelids fell, as if those whispers required more strength than expected. “And the fact you keep blaming yourself… I don’t like it.”  
  
“You shouldn’t try to make me feel better.”  
Junmyeon’s voice was gentle, yet filled with a pain that only made her body hurt. Deeply. Weirdly.  
  
“I’m telling you the truth.”  
  
“You’re not even real, are you?” the sudden harshness made Hyejin look in his direction, surprised glimpses spiraling in her gaze. “Just my brain playing with my own traumas and insecurities. Typical.”  
  
“Kim Junmyeon.”  
  
Kang Hyejin’s hands felt soft against his skin. Like gentle kisses made of snow, confidently touching his cheeks. As nice as childish dreams, but more real than anything Kim Junmyeon had experienced in the past months. He stared at her, quiet, while Autumn rustled around them, instead.  
“I’m dead. Nothing will change that — a painful pause — I’m dead, alright? And I can accept it, now. I can accept what I’ve lost.”  
Hyejin’s eyes collapsed on the ground, burning tears slowly tainting them, ruining them.  
“What I can’t get over, though… is how you’re giving up on your life, destroying yourself for… what, exactly?”  
  
“I didn’t help you.”  
Junmyeon’s reply was sudden, like poison had been waiting to come out.

“You gave me your love. That was enough. That is enough.”  
“It didn’t save you.”  
“It wasn’t supposed to!”  
  
Their little shouting match died among tears and frustration, with eyes that refused to meet each other. With hearts that refused to suffer.  
  
“I’m always thinking about you,” Junmyeon was gentle, again. The softness of his voice kissing her own fragility.  
“Now I know — she said, little smirk — but it’s time to stop.”  
Hyejin grabbed his hands, and how real and warm those were, reminding her what life was supposed to taste like. How close. She breathed, carefully. Stole air she didn’t even need, but still craved, craved so much.  
“Kim Junmyeon, I want your smile to be pretty again.”  
He blinked. One, two times.  
  
“How?”  
“Heal.”

Junmyeon didn’t know, he really didn’t know, why tears couldn’t stop coming down, why his lips refused to show anything but a smile. He didn’t know why his heart hurt, daggers and flesh, and yet felt more full, more warm than ever. The sadness of endings, the sparkles of hope.   
  
“For all the times I made you feel bad, I’m so sorry. For not coming here often, I’m so sorry. For making you believe you didn’t matter… I’m so sorry.”  
  
Despite the tears, Kang Hyejin’s smile was so pretty, _so beautiful_ , it made stars bloom.  
  
“Thank you for hugging me, lifting me from the ground, teaching me love doesn’t care about blemishes and mistakes. Thank you for bringing sparkles to my room, making me feel worthy of happiness and care. Thank you for showing me how pretty, how magical life can be.”   
She kissed his cheek, softly, leaving behind traces of her soul.  
“To you, whose sole existence made me smile, thank you,” whispered against his ear. “I hope you’ll heal, that you’ll be able to be happy.”  
When she left the ground, Junmyeon’s heart was already filled to the brim with stars.  
“If you can… please, don’t completely forget about me, alright?”  
  
“I could never forget you,” he said, forever entranced.  
“I trust you.”  
  
Light breached through the clouds, drawing the outline of her figure.  
  
“Kang Hyejin,” as the sound of her steps got fainter. “There’s no turning back now, I know. Still... let’s meet each other in our next life, yes? Let’s love again.”  
  
She turned towards him, that little heap of hopes and desperation.  
 _  
“See you in our next life, Kim Junmyeon.”_  
  


  
When Junmyeon woke up, body laying on the ground, there was nothing but darkness. A recorded voice, somewhere, kept announcing the closing time. Yet, Kang Hyejin’s warm smile was the only detail he could think about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Yixing’s fingers danced against the wooden surface, following the rhythm of Hyejin’s voice. Each note felt like kisses from summer, like stars falling down, stumbling against their feet, tainting their reality with a touch of dreams. Junmyeon laughed over a joke, his arm suddenly around Yixing’s shoulders. Youth, for them, was shadows on their desks and the gentle afternoon sun. It was voices echoing in the empty classroom, their names on the blackboard, Hyejin imitating her favorite idols and Yixing dancing over her tunes. It was Junmyeon and his books, the pretty laugh he let out whenever those two dragged him away from a math problem or a literature quiz. Youth was cookies and feet resting on their desks, the weird power in knowing there was still an entire life to live, with its tragedies and joys.  
Yixing stared at Hyejin and Junmyeon laughing — and for a moment, he prayed to whatever God to let him drown in that warmth for the rest of his days.

  
  
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

_wish_ —  
to lu

  
  
  


Dear my _heart,_

here’s a list of things I wish I had told myself sooner:  
  
1\. No matter what everyone else may say or think, you’ll always be enough. More than enough.

  1. Don’t be afraid of pain. I know you’re tired of crying, I know you don’t want to get hurt, but refusing pain also means never being able to taste happiness. Or love. And everything’s worth it, when those two are involved.



  1. There’s at least someone, in this universe, who genuinely cares about you. Please don’t laugh, I’m writing the truth. Someone cares, even if you can’t see it now. And their heart aches when you’re sad.



  1. You deserve to breathe.



  
I have so much love in me, sometimes it’s hard to think.  
 _My heart,_ I’m sorry for all the suffering you had to endure. I’m okay, now. I have people praying for my happiness, I have dreams and sparkles inside me, waiting for a new sunrise. My heart… when that morning comes, and the air will taste like cherries and wishes, I promise I’ll take better care of you. My heart, you deserve to breathe, too.

Yours,  
  
 _Kang Hyejin._

  
  
  



	3. you’re a winner, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psa: to be honest, considering how much content there was to manage, i didn’t keep a precise outline of every single route. at the end of the game, most of the ones that had lost (e.g. sekai) were extremely underdeveloped. i’d like for you to consider this entire chapter as… an au of the au? i turned the requests into prompts and played around.

you’re a winner, baby —  
 _have a strawberry kiss_

“If it's okay, I want to know what would have happened if   
we voted for Sehun to work on his relationship with Jongin,   
how would that have changed things and how would it affect   
all of the characters? Would it have an impact on the ending?

_  
  
  
_

_glamorous pain_ —  
to gem

_  
  
  
  
  
_

Ringlets of melodies and crooked laughs, leftovers from before, echoed in the air with grace. Baekhyun was scraps of feelings and tears, a wreck of thoughts teetering along the road, lost in a night that felt both miserable and needed. Kyungsoo held his wrist, tenderly, let warmth erase every inch of winter — and memories, too. A vast, sorrowful ocean in which Baekhyun kept drowning, restless.   
He stared at Kyungsoo’s back, at how broken and yet strong it looked, carrying together all those pieces of himself. Under lamplights and stars, they ran away from pain.   
  
In a corner of Baekhyun’s mind, a cut of soul left in the lousy pub, Oh Sehun’s cigarette was still drawing stories in the air. For a moment, he wished he could drown in the smoke, melt with nicotine and grey, and steal all of those hidden truths. For a moment, just for a moment, Baekhyun wished his feelings could turn into packed ashtrays, too. Leave both his heart and mind alone. But then Sehun’s own poison got poured on Jongin’s lips, again, and suddenly Baekhyun wanted nothing but death.   
The way none of those smiles belonged to him anymore. The way there was no warmth. The way Sehun laughed and cried and lived for Jongin, _only for Jongin,_ the latter trapped between his arms like the most precious thing. Stars all shiny in their eyes, in their veins, making every glance and touch sparkle. From the bathroom’s door, Baekhyun could only stare. He listened to their cheerful voices, the contrast of jokes and banality, crying a little inside after each stolen peck. There was happiness on their faces, something he had craved for a long time, that made him jealous and angry and so ridiculously fragile — because why didn’t Sehun fight for them, too? For what they had built, strawberries and kisses, and got destroyed by immaturity. Why wasn’t Sehun smiling for Baekhyun, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, arguing about love and tv shows?   
  


“Are you alright?”   
  


_Why was Sehun there, in love with another man?_

“Byun?” Kyungsoo’s worried tone prevailed over the noise, fingers softly brushing against his arm. Baekhyun blinked in surprise, as his feelings left reality alone for a while. All around them, life breathed through laughs, clinking glasses, drunken jokes and the smell of food. It danced in the form of familiar smiles and crazy stories, friends and their beer-stained words. _Life was breathing,_ no doubts, and yet every time his gaze fell on Sehun, on the way his thumb drew lazy circles on Jongin’s hand, Baekhyun had the strong impression time wasn’t really running away. Clock stuck at midnight and ‘I want to put my entire soul into this relationship’, or at ten in the evening and ‘I’ve never loved someone more.’   
“I’m okay” but Baekhyun’s voice was cold and distant and melded with something vaguely pathetic — even more than those tearful eyes.   
Kyungsoo glanced at him, then. A little enigmatic.   
  
“Are you?”   
  
In the fatal instant Baekhyun’s gaze encountered Sehun’s sparkles, guilt turned his heart into ashes.   
  
“No. No, I’m not.”   
  
And it was a dancing tumult of events, then, Kyungsoo grabbing his hand, their jackets, dragging him away from the fuzzy warmth of the pub, only to drown in the middle of Seoul and its packed streets. It was Sehun’s eyes following them, crumbles of sorrow, and Jongin’s suffocating insecurities when the grip around his shoulders weakened. It was Junmyeon’s awkward laugh, then Jongdae suddenly talking about how ridiculous a new movie was. Truth made adults want to run away, no matter the circumstances. 

The last thing in Byun Baekhyun’s memory, the smallest detail, was Park Chanyeol, his candy eyes, the way he couldn’t stop looking down at his drink every time Kim Jongin smiled for someone else. Kinda funny, how unrequited love worked.  
  


In a corner of Baekhyun’s reality, tears pouring down his cheeks, winter made everything feel numb and meaningless. Kyungsoo was now holding his hand, while grass dirtied their clothes and the universe laughed. The nearby river crashed against its borders, following a silent melody.

“I think I’m not enough.”  
  
Kyungsoo glanced at him, caught between annoyance and confusion. Baekhyun simply snorted, as if he were telling someone else’s truth.   
“My love never made him work so hard,” knees against his chest. “Every time I try to move on, I’m reminded of how happy those two are, how important it is for Sehun to give Jongin everything, everything.”   
Baekhyun suddenly stared at Kyungsoo and how ridiculous it was, the latter thought, for him to look that pretty despite the tears. How shameful.   
“Why couldn’t I get everything, too? My heart is still…”   
Words died in a sigh, Baekhyun’s sparkly eyes falling on the ground, on blades of grass looking dark and sad.   
“I’m sure he loved you a lot,” Kyungsoo’s thinly concealed hesitation, their fingers dancing. “But people grow up and change and so does the way they care for others.”   
“I just…”   
Baekhyun appeared lost, somehow. Like falling stars trying to go back home.   
“What’s the difference between me and Jongin?”   
“Time,” Kyungsoo’s tone was so sure, it didn’t allow more questions to breathe. Baekhyun stared at him, tears and silence, until he collapsed against his chest, seeking the warmth of a gentle embrace. But despite how much things had changed between them, how hard they were both working in order to reach happiness, there was a certain guiltiness scratching the inside of Kyungsoo’s head. Cruel and mean, so painful it nearly made him scream.   
  
“Please…”   
Then Byun Baekhyun spoke again, soft, and Do Kyungsoo could do nothing but hug him back.   
  
Such a glamorous pain, under so many laughing stars.   
  


  
  
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

  
“i’d love to see a drabble that focuses on a friend   
ship forming between kyungsoo and a few of the   
other members since he’s actively going to therapy.   
just their everyday lives/meet ups and stuff. i still   
love how chanyeol wanted to be friends with   
kyungsoo so maybe chankai friends with soo?

  
  
  


_pulling on my heart_ —  
to jo

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re so cute, I’m going crazy.” 

Sunlight cast kisses all over the room, gentle pecks against cups and books. The scent of vanilla and disasters. A kind of comforting warmth, a touch of summer and love. Do Kyungsoo’s kitchen was a dramatic mess of stains, a lake of flour and broken eggs, butter ruining page forty four of his recipe book. He collapsed on a chair, while Jongin’s mischievous laugh had sunshine in love. Chanyeol pouted, crossed arms, the soft semblance of a child. Those cheeks burning so much, they nearly hurt. And Kyungsoo didn’t even know why, and when, chaos had prevailed, poor heart crying over eggshells on the ground.   
“I’m serious,” Jongin commented, not quite noticing how flustered Chanyeol had become at that point. He removed the whipped cream from the latter’s nose, the sweetness soon blessing his own lips. “You’re the cutest, hyung.”   
“I don’t like you,” Chanyeol’s voice melted in a low grumble, the sparkles in his eyes running everywhere, anywhere, but on Jongin and that uneven smirk.   
  
“Of course you don’t. After all, you love me.”   
  
“Not anymore!” Chanyeol flinched, heart screaming and dancing. “You’re awful.”   
  
“It’s not my fault whipped cream looks pretty on your nose.”   
  
Jongin’s arms trapped his waist when he turned, and everything kinda felt too warm for a moment. Like butterflies in flames, dancing in his stomach in the most mischievous way. They bickered, and grinned, and softly kissed under sunshine’s smirk. A type of love that made them feel both childish and naive — eating pastries at midnight, stomping on puddles and chasing rainbows. Hands dangling together after practice, the taste of secrets and music on their blissful lips. Jongin improvising a move, while still in the middle of the road, and Chanyeol humming a tune that felt too similar to his latest hit. 

They lived in a constant state of dreaminess, one not even their casual bickering could hurt. Jongin’s sky blue briefs hanging from Chanyeol’s window. The latter’s songs echoing in the dancer’s modest room, yellow sticky notes with the smallest details, things he really wanted to ask or talk about. Their fingers craving warmth, the smell of sex.

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Kyungsoo interrupted, a sigh from his lips while bowls and spoons went back home. Utter frustration and crumbles of embarrassment.  
  
“No, _Soo-yah_ , wait,” Chanyeol ran to him, hands on his shoulders, as the most tragic pout took form on that mouth. Kyungsoo’s gaze was cold, and somehow elitist, but with an exasperated nuance making him feel closer than expected. “No more chaos, I promise!”   
  
“Right, we’ll be good kids, hyung,” Jongin interjected, and the warmth of his fingers inevitably fell on Kyungsoo’s waist. So intimate. “Don’t leave? Please?” 

“We’re serious about this, _Soo-yah!_ ” Chanyeol insisted, again, even though that cheerfulness was bound to fail, because of course someone like Do Kyungsoo didn’t care too much about pouts and pleas. _Of course._   
  
“No, you’re not,” the low timber and nearly imperceptible hesitation, Kyungsoo’s eyes darting from eggs to paintings. A terrible actor, for once.   
  
“We swear on our relationship, hyung.”   
  
“Why would you swear on that… you know we won’t keep our promise…”   
  
“Oh, shut up,” Jongin complained, and Chanyeol restrained a childish whine when he got his cheek pinched, fingers massaging the red away. Revenge came in the form of giggles and tickling, the dancer’s body struggling under every single touch. Kyungsoo sighed, instead.   
  
“Baking a cake for Junmyeon… does it matter so much to you two?” he asked, then, crossing his arms.The birds outside chirped a questioning tune.   
  
“Of course it does! But there’s more!” Chanyeol took a step forward, fueled by stars that made Kyungsoo grin. Shiny and brave, filling his eyes in the prettiest way.   
  
“We just really like learning from you, hyung,” Jongin’s gentle truth was a whisper destroying the calm, the thousands heartbeats shaking Do Kyungsoo from the inside, making him feel all warm — because how nice it was, to be loved and not feared. To receive care, instead of angst, and just drown in kindness for a bit. How nice it was, to be treated like an actual human being. And suddenly Kyungsoo was thinking about all their moments together, the pretty memories filled with twinkles, the three of them having fun on a rollercoaster, drinking fast food’s milkshakes late in the afternoon or judging movies for being too cheap. The three of them laughing, and talking, and feeling complete.   
  
“... alright, you dumb brats, let’s go back to working.”

  
Do Kyungsoo’s smile was just too pretty.  
  


  
  
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“so a 404 alternative universe in which sekai   
decides to stay together and baekhyun ends   
up single. when jongdae comes back from   
being possessed, something begins to   
bloom between them.

  
  


_tell me_ —  
to isa

  
  
  
  
  


Recorded whispers and unsettling scenes, spider webs hanging limply from each corner, like the hopeless audience to a comedy. Coats of eerie details, in what was a thin guise of fearsome darkness and childish monsters. Smoke, cries and the smell of the night. The ghost on their left raised his arms and screamed, and Baekhyun’s eyes were suddenly blurred by tears. Frantic fingers doing their best against shame and fragility, battling terror away like nothing else mattered. Jongdae sighed, instead, plunging his hand into that mess of locks and thoughts.   
“When did you become such a crybaby?”   
“Trauma,” Baekhyun whimpered, a disaster of quivers after every single step. And it was humiliating, and awful, and so terrible it turned his heart into a bitter mess — because he was strong, he was always strong. Because Baekhyun was supposed to be strong. But now amateur ghosts were enough to make him crumble, while Jongdae’s sweet fingers, careful around his wrist, couldn’t fight monsters and memories anymore. Not anymore. And it even made him feel stupid, how he couldn’t get over scenes from years before, the taste of loss still burning on his lips. Ruined hallways and their mischievous laughs. Lack of air. Never-ending stairs.   
  
Baekhyun fell on the ground, hands covering his ears in a vague attempt to erase screams that were not there, words that were not going to hurt. Shivering and crying over scenes glued to a corner of his mind. But Jongdae’s fingers were not around his neck, this time. They didn’t seek death, nor revenge. They caressed Baekhyun’s hair, instead, with gentleness, with warmth.   
“Don’t cry, don’t cry…” whispered against the latter’s cheek, every tear kissed away. “I’m sorry, don’t cry.”   
And it was kind of natural for Baekhyun’s hands to grab his shirt, to steal as much safety as they could, while cheery pecks kept blessing his face, from forehead to chin.   
“If you stop crying, I’ll throw away my stash of essays against the two evil of this world: Kyungsoo, and capitalism.”   
Jongdae’s arms fell around Baekhyun’s quivering body, hiding him away from every scary thing in the universe.   
“I’ll even clean my fridge, Byun Baekhyun.”   
“No more moldy oranges?”   
“You have to stop crying, though.”   
  
There was a moment, between the scream of a ghost and the echo of a memory, in which Byun Baekhyun realized that maybe he was in love. Truly, inexplicably in love. That Kim Jongdae’s warmth was everything he wanted, the midnight hugs before falling asleep. That his fingers itched when they couldn’t text during classes, and alcohol tasted better when it was just them, a bunch of laughs, and the horrible plastic chairs of the convenience store. A moment where his cheeks burned, mind filled with scenes marked by a different tone — Jongdae nagging him till Baekhyun finally decided to put down the book and eat, because exam season was hard and stress always crashed his heart. The annoying lines outside of cd stores just so Jongdae could buy enough albums for a fansign, the way they weren’t as bothersome as Baekhyun pretended, because the other’s smile gave sense to everything. Even to his universe. Jongdae laughing and talking and making the most ridiculous jokes that only Baekhyun considered funny, with their weird way of flirting blessed by Junmyeon’s exasperated sighs.   
There was a moment, between the kiss on his cheek and the one on his lips, in which Byun Baekhyun realized it had stopped being a crush long ago. Stupidly in love.   
  
“You’re the worst cock sucker in the world,” he whined, pushing Jongdae away, because how could he choose a haunted house, of all places, for their special date.   
  
“Boyfriend, that’s the word you’re looking for. Your ignorance is still sexy, though.”  
That little smirk always made Baekhyun want to steal his soul with a kiss.   
  
“What if I became a Sunmi anti?”   
“What if I poured lemon juice on your eyes to wake you up?”   
  
There was a short silence, one made of competitive stares and furrowed eyebrows. Fingers looking for each other.   
  
“I like you a lot,” Baekhyun sighed, tone all sweet and defeated.   
“Eh. I like you too, I guess,” Jongdae laughed against his lips, heart collapsing into a shiny smile when the other pouted. “A lot, little orange.”   
  



End file.
